


and im trying to find my peace of mind behind these two white highway lines

by itsafuckingdeathwish



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pete Wentz's Suicide Attempt (Best Buy Incident), Sadness, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, barely there, but like seriously extremely minor, hasnt anybody heard of a little thing called communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:47:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsafuckingdeathwish/pseuds/itsafuckingdeathwish
Summary: “I thought you were going to die.”  Patrick’s voice was almost drowned out by the rain.  “I had to hear from our manager---from our fucking manager---that you were popping fucking Ativan in a fucking Best Buy and I thought you were going to fucking die.”





	and im trying to find my peace of mind behind these two white highway lines

**Author's Note:**

> tw for: referenced suicide attempt, seriously minor implied self harm. stay safe x

Pete found it both incredibly funny and incredibly sad how you could be ten feet away from someone, trapped in the same tiny car hurtling down the same highway to the same nowhere, and yet still be worlds apart from each other. 

 

Outside, the rain was hammering on the windshield and the wind was on a rampage, but inside the car the air was _thick_ and _still_ and _quiet_ and _dead,_ and Pete hated it.  He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs until his throat was hoarse just to fill the space with something other than this goddamn silence. 

 

Patrick was sitting just two feet away, but it seemed like ten thousand.

 

Why do we always say something is seven inches _away_ , four miles _away_ , fifteen lightyears _away_?  Why isn’t that chair ten feet _close_?

 

Well, maybe _away_ was right.  Patrick sure as hell wasn’t two feet _close_ right now.

 

Pete sat up suddenly, slipped out his earbuds, turning to face Patrick, who glanced over at him in surprise, and let the words spill out of his mouth. 

 

And then he opened his eyes again with his music still pumping from his earbuds, still draped over his seat in the same sprawling position.  He flicked his eyes over to Patrick to see that he was still staring straight out at the graygreenblue blur of the road.

 

He sighed quietly, suffocated by all the words that he just couldn’t say.  They were clawing their way up his throat, pouring out of his mouth, bubbling out through his nose, but every single one fell silently to the ground. 

 

_Patrick, I’m sorry._

_Please forgive me._

_I swear I never meant to hurt you._

_Trick, please._

_I hate the way you won’t even look at me._

_Just talk to me, please._

_Can’t you see I’m over here dying without you?_

_I can’t do this alone._

Now the words were everywhere, filling up the car, suffocating him from the outside instead of the inside.  But Patrick was still just sitting there, looking everywhere except for Pete. 

 

Pete stretched his arms over his head, suddenly filled with a burst of restless energy, and his sleeves slipped down to his elbows.

 

Then he heard a sharp intake of breath next to him, and glanced over to see Patrick’s eyes locked on his arms in the air, and quickly put them down, tugging his sleeves down over his hands.  Patrick kept staring at his wrists even once they were covered, almost like he was in a trance.

 

“Eyes on the road,” Pete murmured softly.  After a few moments, Patrick returned his eyes to the rain-streaked road, but they were still too big and too shiny.

 

“At least just tell me why,” Patrick whispered with a broken voice.

 

For a few hours --- or maybe it was just a few seconds, Pete didn’t even know --- that heavy silence settled over the car again.

 

“I---I don’t know.  I just---sometimes it just gets to be too much, and I just can’t stand it, and I just have to get it out and I couldn’t take it---I don’t know.”

 

Patrick’s eyes flicked back and forth with the windshield wipers, but they never flicked over to Pete. 

 

Maybe it was better that way; Pete didn’t know if he could have stood those sad sad eyes full-on. 

 

“I thought you were going to die.”  Patrick’s voice was almost drowned out by the rain.  “I had to hear from our manager--- _from our fucking manager_ \---that you were popping fucking Ativan in a fucking Best Buy _and I thought you were going to fucking die_.”

 

Pete wanted to say so many things, but every syllable stuck in his throat, so instead they just sat there in the car to nowhere watching the headlights zoom past like shooting stars in the dark, but Pete didn’t even bother wishing on them.  A million wishes, a whole galaxy of falling stars, couldn’t fix this broken mess.

**Author's Note:**

> ok ik i said i was gonna stop posting stuff i wrote all in one go in like an hour at night without editing but fuck it. im extra sad and lonely and depressed tonight so i wrote an extra sad and lonely and depressing fic.  
> this is basically just my rambly depressing thoughts pretty much unedited but whatever. 
> 
> update: this didn't end up getting posted at 1 am . . . but only cause i fell asleep and now im too lazy + sleepy to edit it and redo the end notes and im still feeling extra sad and loney and depressed so . . . here ya go.
> 
> comments amd kudos always appreciated, hmu on tumblr @livings-just-a-waste-of-death


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